The Table
“We don't come to the table to fight or to defend. We don't come to prove or to conquer, to draw lines in the sand or to stir up trouble. We come to the table because our hunger brings us there. We come with a need, with fragility, with an admission of our humanity. The table is a place of safety and rest and humanity, where we are allowed to be as fragile as we feel.”
-Shauna Niequist
For those of you who know me, you know that I’m an includer. I think that a better word to use is a gatherer. To gather people together, especially around the table, to eat, drink, to tell stories, to be heard, fed and nourished on every level.
For me, I didn’t value the idea of the table as much when I was younger. I felt like it was a chore, because I would much rather be with my friends, not seated around the table with my family. As I’ve gotten older though I see the table as a sacred place. It’s become clearer to me that the most sacred moments, the ones in which I can feel God’s presence most profoundly, the goodness of the world most arrestingly, is around the table.
The particular magic of celebration and food, of connecting people and serving what has been made with my own two hands, comes together as more than the sum of their parts. I love the sounds, smells, and textures of life at the table, hands passing bowls and forks clinking against plates, bread being torn and the rhythm and energy of feeding and being fed.
There is something magical that happens when environments and spaces are created that are safe, special, and intimate. When your hands get to chop, dice, and coax scents and flavors from the raw materials in front of you while cooking. There is something entirely satisfying in a modern, increasingly virtual world about something so elemental–heat, knife, sizzle, conversation, laughter, silence. The amazing thing is that the meal doesn’t have to be filet mignon, it could be frozen pizza, or one of my personal favorites popcorn because it’s the gathering of people that is of great significance.
While food is good, its more so about what happens when people come together, slow down, open up our homes, look into one another’s faces, listen to one another stories, and meet each other where we need to be met at. It takes intention, a willingness from both guest and host, yet when we are able to break out of our daily routine life for no other reason than the fact that the faces we love are gathered around the table together.
It happens when we decide to invite and enter the joy and sorrow of the people we love and we join together at the table to be fed physically, emotionally and spiritually. Food and the table are just the starting point, the common ground, the thing to hold and handle, the currency we offer to one another. It’s the thing that connects us, that bears our traditions, our sense of home and family, our deepest memories, and, on a practical level, our ability to live and breathe each day.
I understand that the table and what happens may not matter to a lot of people, but, it matters to me more and more. I believe that all of life is filled with God’s presence, and that part of the gift of walking with him is seeing His fingerprints in all sorts of unexpected ways. For me I feel connected when creating opportunities for people I love to rest and connect. I believe it matters and it’s the way I was made. I’ve chosen for years to ignore it, for numerous reasons; fear, rejection, being told that it’s silly, not being a good cook, the list could go on. But as one of my favorite poets Mary Oliver says, its about “letting the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”
Ironically though, some of my most sacred meals have been eaten out of travel mugs, on camping trips, walking along the streets in Asia, or on benches in Europe. So, why the table? Because its not specifically about the table, or the other places we find ourselves eating. It’s about a spirit or quality of living that rises up when we offer one another a seat at the table, slow down, and intentionally say “you are welcome here.”
Having a table is important, but the invitation is just as vital and like it is RSVPing to that invitation. For, if we do not allow ourselves to open up the doors and pull out a chair and say “come and sit down” we might just be a closed door forever. The invitation and acceptance of it involves risk, a willingness to trust, because sometimes the person sitting right across from us can be a complete stranger. Yet, if your heart is willing and open we gain something so much bigger than just a shared meal and conversation. We gain the heart of Jesus.
If I look at Jesus’ life it is filled with invitation. Him saying “come follow me,” dining at people’s homes, or simply taking notice of them. He doesn’t adhere to our system of thinking or for that matter of feeling. Because to His enemy He gives love, to the sinner He gives love, to the broken He gives love, and to the one who is lost He gives love. He looks at them and doesn’t cast judgement, He doesn’t view them from the past, He chooses to look at them in the very present moment and invites them to dine on “the bread of life.”
Jesus has and is full of table moments, where He pauses everything and sets the table, maybe not physically, but He still sets it for us to dine with Him — because He just wants to take notice and include you and I in a heavenly banquet for no other reason than the fact that the faces He loves are gathered around the table together. These are the sacred moments of the table — truth spoken, people healed, a lie broken and being delivered from the weight of sin and death.
And that’s why I love the table, physical or metaphorical, because it is where I believe heaven meets earth. Because life is about invitation, it’s healing, loving, seeing, being intentional, and creating. It’s gathering together with family — blood related or not. At the heart and center of it all is connecting, setting everything else aside for a moment that can change a life for eternity. So, won’t you come join me at my table? For you are welcome here.
